Mirage
by mysticxf
Summary: Jack and Sawyer still have one thing in common after being rescued.


Lost belongs to JJ Abrams, Bad Robot, the guys on the Podcast, and a few others. Just entertaining myself here at work and hoping that even though the Muse is being weird, it stays for a while. Jack and Sawyer still have one thing in common after being rescued.

Lost – Mirage

By Mystic

March 6th 2006

He thought he saw her at the end of a long white hallway. The same way she'd looked when they first met. White shirt hanging loose from her brown khaki pants, toes speckled with sand sticking out from those ridiculous sandals. Hair wild; eyes red. He blinked and she was gone, just a figment of his imagination after a long day at work.

That's what Jack told himself.

The nurses rushed around him, one called his name loudly, urgently, shouted something about a stabbing at a bar. Jack stopped staring at the wall at the end of the hallway. Stopped trying to put her face back there where he could see her again. He turned, his eyes snapping into focus on a gurney being slammed through the emergency room doors, at the body on it. Blonde hair sweaty and matted, eyes bloodshot, face contorted in pain, the dimples still there under ten day old stubble.

"Sawyer," Jack snarled, feeling his hands ball into fists for just a second before he slammed them down on the railings of the gurney to help steer it towards an open operating room. Patient, patient, patient, his mind repeated over and over as he listened to an EMT rattle on about how much blood he'd lost, that the intestines might have been ruptured, what medicines they'd given him.

He nodded several times, the chart gripped tightly in his left hand. When had they given it to him? He watched Sawyer's face wince again when they moved him from the gurney to another bed and Jack began shouting, began pulling on new gloves and grabbing a scalpel. He watched Sawyer's eyes drift away as anesthesia began to kick in and his body relaxed.

Jack pressed a hand into the other man's shoulder; he told him everything would be alright. He continued to call him by the name he'd known him by on the island, watching the nurses shrug their shoulders and exchange looks. Jack fixed the holes, put the pieces back together and waited. It was the same as any other procedure, only this time he didn't care about the outcome.

But he sat by Sawyer anyways. Rubbing his sleepy eyes as he tried to find a comfortable position on the chair beside the bed when his shift ended, listening to the hypnotic beeping of Sawyer's heart. It'd be fine, he told himself, it'd be fine. He listened to the man whisper in his sleep and remembered a time, what seemed like so long ago, when he'd been in the same place down in a hatch in the middle of a jungle. Jack managed a chuckle and heard Sawyer grunt.

"Thought I saw her," Sawyer muttered as he opened his eyes, seeing Jack stand to check on him. "Jack." He started to move forward, to try to sit up.

"You need to lie still," Jack responded, his hands firm against Sawyer's chest as he pushed the man back.

"I thought I saw her," he repeated, his eyes looking somewhat dazed.

Jack nodded slowly, watching the pain that flushed Sawyer's face as he tried to remember. He waited, knowing the man had more to say, knowing he would try to get up if he left. "You know you didn't," he told him. "She's not here."

Sawyer leaned his head back and swallowed, the lump in his throat moving painfully against the skin of his neck. "Naw, I thought I saw 'er in the bar. Had that look she always got, like I disappointed her."

"Sawyer, she wasn't in the bar." His voice was harsh, cold, and he stared at Sawyer until the man looked back at him, meeting his eyes. Sawyer lowered his eyebrows and gave him a short nod before letting his head rest against the pillow again.

"What happened, anyways?" Jack asked, trying to ease the tension. He felt the breath leave him on a long sigh as he watched Sawyer shrug his shoulders.

The man on the bed gritted his teeth for a moment and then admitted, "There was a girl." Jack started to laugh, but Sawyer's head snapped up, cutting him short. "Reminded me of Kate. Long dark waves, them jeans hung so low it hurts, and a tank top over a sports bra. And dimples. Deep 'n long when she smiled." Sawyer sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "She was with her ol' man and he was pushing her around, hollerin' at 'er to put her jacket back on. Then he smacked her and I stepped up. He pulled out a knife; I pulled out a barstool. Wasn't much of a match in the end."

Jack nodded slowly. He watched Sawyer stare at the ceiling, thoughts clouding his eyes over, his lips twitched once, the way lips do when you try not to cry. "I thought I saw her too." He lowered his head, staring at his hands, gripping the side of the bed in front of him. "But I didn't."

"They really do stick around, don't they," Sawyer said pointedly as Jack started to walk away. "Kind of comforting, ain't it, Doc?"

Jack turned back slightly, not sure whether the man wanted confirmation or if he was just stating facts. He could tell by the look on Sawyer's face that the other man didn't quite know either. "She's dead, Sawyer."

Gripping the doorway, Jack watched Sawyer duck his head quickly, his chest caving slightly as he exhaled and Jack tapped the doorway lightly with his forefinger before releasing it and walking away from the room. He raised his head, his eyes finding the dark hair that turned the corner, making his heart leap slightly. He listened to the soles of his shoes slap against the linoleum as he raced down the hallway and turned the corner, finding the brightly lit hall empty.

As it always was.

Finis


End file.
